


Memento Mori

by Nebbles



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon
Genre: Gen, called invincible and you guys should all check it out!, i wrote this for a camus fan zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles
Summary: For a moment, Camus paused and wondered if he’d draw his last breath today.





	Memento Mori

For a moment, Camus paused and wondered if he’d draw his last breath today.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought, for sure, but for someone of his station, the idea rooted itself in the corners of his mind. From the minute — perhaps the second, really — his life was given to Grust, death’s fingers curled around his heart, ready to take hold at a moment’s notice. You are a knight of Grust, death whispered in his ear, telling him his life wasn’t in his hands anymore. This didn’t scare him, and nor did it unsteady his hold on his lance. It was the oath he made, and the oath he intended to keep. 

Camus had skirted around death for so long; it was almost surprising it hadn’t claimed him at this point. The scars that ran deep down his body were reminders of all the instances he had managed to crawl out, barely breathing, heart beating in his chest. Perhaps that was a sign he wasn’t ready to die at that moment. He still had blood to bleed, breath to give. Grust was not allowing him to die just yet. 

Of course, Camus would allow his heart to keep beating if he wasn’t done serving Grust. The Gods wouldn’t be so cruel as to claim him before his duty was finished. He would have contested the will of these Gods if he was taken so soon. There was a war to fight, and people to protect. As blood seeped closer to Grust, he began to wonder if his duty was slowly coming to an end.

It would be a noble death, at the very least. Had Camus been an oathbreaker, he would have gone down as a fool — a traitor, even — mocked for years to come. The idea humiliated him to his core; what a pathetic death it would have been. There was little hesitation in admitting he would rather die with a sword lodged in his chest, if meant better for dying for his motherland.

Emotions did not dictate him, and he supposed this battle would head down a different path if they did. Yet Camus had set himself down this road years ago, and did not plan to walk astray. A knight did not shirk his duty. A knight’s thoughts did not oppose those of his country. Whatever Grust said, whatever Grust thought, his mind said the same. Were it any different, perhaps death wouldn’t linger on his mind so. 

Camus shut his eyes, trying to darken his senses, imagining what death would truly feel like. Would it be swift? Would it be agonizing, a gaping wound intersecting countless scars as his blood stained the earth? Would pride swell in his chest in his final moments? Dying with honor was the only thing one could ask for at this point.

To him, death felt almost like a memory — an old friend who he hadn’t seen in a long time. Were he to reunite with such a friend, perhaps it’d be a happy one. Whatever were to transpire on the battlefield today, Camus was prepared to accept it. He’d always fought for what he believed to be just, and those beliefs would be displayed today on the battlefield.

Memories flashed through his mind. Images of being dragged across the continent, blood-soaked fields, and confinement swirled throughout. His past actions had dragged him through hell, yet he had come out alive, still bound to Grust. He was a knight. Knights did not regret anything that was in the best interest of their homeland. Camus clung to that notion, hoping it would quell any unpleasant memories that dared to rear their ugly head.

Did nightmares greet him? Perhaps. There had been times were he had awoken in a cold sweat, the scars on his body screaming in agony. A sense of claustrophobia enclosed on him, trapping him under the cold gaze from those who had caused such humiliation. Those nights were followed by a lack of sleep, and a strengthened resolve to keep true to his ideals. He could never falter.

No matter what others said, no matter what they thought, the whispers of others could not shake a knight’s course. It was his path and his alone. 

Camus opened his eyes once more, an expanse of nature laid out before him. It was almost terrible to believe the verdant shades would be splattered crimson. Such was the nature of war, he supposed. Such was the nature of his duty.

He gripped Gradivus tightly, holding it ever forward, lance tipped toward the horizon.


End file.
